


Separate the Game from the Truth

by cupstealer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Gay Porn Hard, M/M, Playoff Beards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupstealer/pseuds/cupstealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The singing is a constant thing. Jonny’s theory is that it’s just something to keep Kaner's mouth and part of his brain busy, because it’s all the damn time. Lyrics seem to stick to his brain the way stats do. Jonny’s gotten used to it; it’s mostly easy to ignore. Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Separate the Game from the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> For [Gay Porn Hard](http://demotu.tumblr.com/tagged/gay-porn-hard). Takes place after Game 4 of the MIN-CHI series in Round 2 of the 2015 Playoffs. 
> 
> Inspired by the [Blackhawks' new victory song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sb3XfrCtjVU) (nsfw). Title also from that song.

Jonny hops off the ice and finally lets the relief settle over him. He ambles down the tunnel and allows himself to feel the satisfaction he’s been holding in, to think the word they’ve all been avoiding. Sweep. They swept. 

The last three minutes of the game were exactly why you have to viciously tamp down every fucking drop of premature victory; but now that it’s behind him, handshake line and all, he can breathe. The series hadn’t felt like a sweep. It’d felt like a battle, making this moment all the better. 

And now he gets to walk to his stall loose and happy. He gets to know (relatively) where he’s gonna be for the next two weeks of his life. The music pulsing from the visitor’s locker room speakers is perfect- buoyant yet relaxed. Everybody’s joking around, unlacing their skates and grinning easily. 

Jonny starts pulling his own equipment off, soaking up this atmosphere. He knows that no matter how long their break is, he’s only going to get tonight to feel bone-deep gratification before the focus turns to Round 3. So he takes his time, stretching his neck and shoulders out once his shoulder pads are off.

He can hear Timonen’s breathing from the stall next to him. Jonny knows he’s gassed and he’s only going to get more minutes from here with Roszy more than likely out. When he glances over, Timonen does look tired, but he’s still grinning across the room. Jonny follows his line of sight to find Sharpy throwing his gloves and towel at Kaner, who’s singing to Sharpy with a sleazy grin on his face, taking his jersey off slow. Jonny is not at all surprised that Patrick already has their victory song memorized. In fact, he’s glad Kaner does because anyone who knows him knows that Pat’s going to sing along whether he knows the words or not. 

The singing is a constant thing. Jonny’s theory is that it’s just something to keep Kaner's mouth and part of his brain busy, because it’s all the damn time. Lyrics seem to stick to his brain the way stats do. Jonny’s gotten used to it; it’s mostly easy to ignore. When he and Davey were younger, Jonny went through a (lengthy) phase of being very protective of his music, going ballistic when Davey took his CDs or “stole” his bands. And then in the car, Davey would mouth along to _Jonny’s_ music or _Jonny’s_ radio station, just to be a little shit and prove that he knew the words whether Jonny liked it or not. It drove Jonny nuts. Kaner does his thing without thinking about it, though. And he’s adamantly disinterested in Jonny’s music collection (to the point of meanness, Jonny thinks).

Sometimes that’s the problem, though, the mindlessness. Sometimes Kaner just doesn’t think about what’s coming out of his mouth.

“… so recognize the dick size in these Karl Kani jeans. I wear thirteens, know what I mean?”

There’s a saxophone backing Kaner up as he continues to terrorize Sharpy with some heinous dance moves spicing up the usual postgame striptease. Sharpy is just giving him pitying looks now while Peeks tells him about being called “Big Poppa.” The combined effect of the douchey grin, sweat, dance moves, horrible rapping, saxophone, and mullet are truly terrible. In one of the more horrifying moments of his life, Jonny realizes he’s into it. And since he’s having a moment of honesty with himself, leaning back in his stall, he has to admit it’s not even in the way that Jonny can’t not be low-key into Kaner’s everything. That’s denying culpability, and that’s not Jonny’s style. No, he’s kind of into this, like, specifically. Which: _gross_.

Jonny hadn’t hooked up with a guy in almost eight years—since _college_ —and then he and Kaner started up this thing out of nowhere a week before playoffs started. It’s kinda like the floodgates have opened and now he can’t quite trick his mind into thinking there are two Kaners: the one he works with and the one who sucked his dick last night. 

So Jonny’s unreasonably distracted by the Kane Show across the room from him. Because he _does_ know what Kaner means. About the size thirteens. 

Jonny snaps out of it when Hoss stands up to award the belt, whooping and cheering with the rest of the room for Crow. Jonny locks it up, rubbing his eyeballs as he gets into his interview headspace. 

 

After the press are waved off, he heads to the showers on autopilot. He’s already done shampooing by the time his ears adjust enough to the sound of the spray to make out Kaner’s voice somewhere behind him, still stuck on that song.

“…call me Bigga the condom filler. Whether it’s stiff tongue or stiff dick, Biggie squeeze it to make shit fit, now check this shit…”

Not even the bolt of shameful, shameful arousal that just struck Jonny like a lightning rod is enough to break his decades of locker room conditioning and make him turn around, but it’s a near thing. They haven’t yet. Haven't fucked. Not really. When they started hooking up, Pat was still recovering from his broken collarbone. So before playoffs started, they didn’t have the inclination to try anything too strenuous. After playoffs started, they didn’t have the fucking energy. 

Jonny feels his heart rate picking up. He’s got to be normal for, like, ten more minutes. Body wash, conditioner, towel, clothes, phone. He’s got this. 

He realizes he’s washing his hair with body wash. He has not got this. 

Kaner’s still humming along blithely, probably shaking his damn hips. Pat had a good game, he has every reason to be chipper but he’s making Jonny’s life so damn difficult right now. 

Jonny turns his water cold and sets himself to just getting through it. 

He’s putting on his towel by the time he hears, “I fuck nonstop, lick my lips a lot, used to lick the clits a lot, but lickin’ clits had to stop…” Jonny tunes him out by aggressively trying to remember the first ten prime ministers in order. 

He’s only gotten to Thompson when Kaner actually turns to him, walking into the dressing room beside him now, singing, “I got the _cleanest, meanest penis_. Ya never seen this stroke of genius.”

He’s bobbing his head like an idiot and Jonny has had enough. He puts a hand on Pat’s shoulder to keep him from walking any further into the room. When Pat looks at him, Jonny just says in an undertone, “You’re fucking me tonight,” and walks off to his stall. Like he was letting a back-up goalie know he’s on tonight. 

Oddly enough, it makes him feel much, much better. For one, he’s not alone in this anymore. While he’s tugging on some briefs, he can see Kaner still gaping in the doorway out of the corner of his eye. For another, putting it out there has given Jonny the feeling he can just defer his arousal to a more useful future moment. Jonny breathes in, breathes out. He is the master of his dick. 

 

Pat doesn’t get a chance to retaliate until they’re in the hotel lobby, where he gives an elbow to Jonny’s gut that is neither gentle nor lover-like. 

“Do you hate me? Do you wish pain on me? Because I could’ve sworn we were bros and bros do not—do NOT—do that shit to each other.”

“You started it, buddy,” is all Jonny will say, refusing to answer Kaner’s questions till they’re in private.

When the million-year-long elevator ride comes to an end, he and Kaner peel off from Hammer and Saader who are going to set up Mario Kart in Saad’s room. Jonny lets Kaner follow him into his room. Jonny drops his bag, takes his jacket off. 

“You gonna explain to me why I had to spend the last hour singing Frère Jacques in my head over and over and over and—“

“You’ve gotta pay attention to what comes outta your mouth, Kaner. Gave me a heart attack.”

“What’d I do?” Kaner’s eyes are wide, indignant. He hasn’t moved from the hallway.

Jonny takes a seat to take his shoes off. “Talking about your dick size and your fucking tongue and—“

“What the fuck, I did no—wait, you mean _the song_?”

Jonny looks up from unlacing a shoe. “Yeah, Kaner, I mean the song.”

Kaner bites his lip, grinning. “You got turned on by me rapping?”

Jonny’s sure this combo of delighted and judgmental have happened on someone’s face before, but he’s not sure it’s ever happened with a mullet in the mix. 

“Does it matter?” Jonny sighs. Kaner’s finally toeing his shoes off, at least, hanging his jacket, still grinning like a loon.

“It might, actually.” And then Kaner’s all up on him, wedging himself between Jonny’s legs and thrusting his hips goofily while rapping some verse from some song Jonny doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know. He catches the words “boo” and “cake” and decides not to ask. He puts his hands on Kaner’s hips and tips his head forward to gently headbutt Kaner’s stomach, groaning, “I hate you.”

Kaner’s cackling, which isn’t something Jonny likes to miss seeing: Kaner’s eyes go squinty, his mouth goes wide, and his nose wrinkles up like a little kid’s. Kaner’s got an infectious laugh, is all. But Jonny can’t make himself look up from hiding his face. 

When Pat settles down, he’s a bit quieter, “Hey, were you serious?” His hands are on Jonny’s shoulders.

Jonny tips his head back, “About what?”

Pat looks exasperated, “About me… fucking you, man. About me fucking you.” His voice is a little choked now. Jonny grins a little.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Is that something you’d be into?” Jonny asks, because they haven’t really explored ass territory at all. Jonny’s been cool to pretty much follow Kaner’s lead in this thing, but he’s maybe feeling a little desperate tonight.

Pat makes some aborted noises before managing, “Yeah, Jonny. Yeah.”

And suddenly Jonny is not the master of his dick anymore. He’s a little dizzy from bloodrush, actually, probably not the master of anything right now. 

Pat nudges him into scooting up the bed and lying down, unbuckles Jonny’s belt while Jonny works on his shirt. By the time they’ve got Jonny down to his briefs, Pat’s still fully dressed, practically. But he doesn’t seem interested in pausing to fix that as he strokes his hands down Jonny’s neck, firm thumbs swiping down over his nipples. Jonny can see the obscene bulge pressing at Pat’s suit pants. He licks his lips. 

“You gonna lose the clothes for me?”

Pat grins, eyes trained on Jonny’s mouth. He leans down and rubs his bearded cheek across Jonny’s chest in a way that makes Jonny arch up off the bed. “Sure, Jonny,” he says, smug.

He crawls off Jonny and stands up to strip. Jonny gets caught up watching the movement of Pat’s back muscles as he undoes his belt, then remembers, “Hey, while you’re up, I’ve got lube and stuff in my bag.”

Pat turns to face him, looking dazed for a moment before nodding. He struggles with undressing after that, hands slipping to get his socks off. Jonny’s enjoying watching this even more. He turns over onto his stomach and pillows his chin on his arms, waiting.

“Any day, now.”

He can hear Pat start a few different protests, and eventually give up, breathless, as he turns away to rummage through Jonny’s bag. People make fun of Jonny’s ass, but fuck if it isn’t useful. 

The bed dips when Patrick gets back on it, knees on either side of Jonny’s thighs. He drops the ‘lube and stuff’ on the covers and puts his mouth to Jonny’s shoulder blade. “Have you done this?” he says into the skin.

“Not for a while.”

The anticipation alone has gotten Jonny mostly hard where he’s making an effort not to rub off on the bed. 

“I, uh, haven’t. So be patient with me.” Pat doesn’t sound nervous, per se, but maybe like he’s thinking too much, so Jonny turns over and pulls him down for a kiss. Pat gets into it because he’s Pat, turning the kiss wet and deep in a heartbeat. 

Pat’s completely naked, and when he lowers his body to Jonny’s, Jonny’s can feel every inch of him. ‘Thirteens,’ his brain supplies. Jonny’s dick is about proportional to his body size. He'd already known Pat had nothing to worry about in the size department, but it wasn’t until they started sleeping together that he’d realized just how big Pat was. He groans into Pat's mouth.

They make out like that for a while before Pat’s fingertips stray to Jonny’s briefs. Jonny’s leaking already, so he’s happy to raise his hips to help Pat slide his underwear down until he can kick it away. Over the past few weeks, Pat has gotten real familiar with Jonny’s ab-to-thigh zone. It seems to be kind of a thing for him. He’s bitten at Jonny’s V-cuts for ages before deigning to focus on his cock, lavishing attention on his sensitive inner thighs. So it’s natural for Pat to move down the bed, arms under Jonny’s thighs, mouth affixed to whatever Pat’s taken a fancy to that day. Except this time, Pat’s reaching for lube.

He presses a kiss below Jonny’s navel and looks up to catch Jonny’s gaze, resting his chin where his ruddy beard stands out from Jonny’s dark pubes. Jonny has given up on understanding what he finds attractive.

Pat doesn’t say anything, but Jonny can hear the snick of the cap to his lube. He shifts a little on the bed, pressing into Pat’s hand on his ass. The other hand isn’t far behind. Jonny can’t help the shiver that goes through him when a finger brushes over his asshole. That’s all the finger does for a minute, until Jonny feels justified in huffing out, “Pat, hurry up.”

For once, Pat doesn’t give him any lip, just nibbles on his thigh a little and pushes his finger in little by little. It’s not too much of an adjustment; Jonny fingers himself pretty often, even after he and Pat started hooking up on the regular. Jonny _really_ likes being fingered.

Jonny circles his hips a little and Pat’s finger slips a little deeper. It’s not long before he adds a second finger. Jonny’s gotten so that he likes the stretch, his body’s cottoned on to where it leads. His muscles are already sore from the game, making every sensation and push sort of echo through his nerves. Pat works up a rhythm that Jonny rolls into, wanting more. It’s been years since he’s been fingered by anyone but himself, and it’s so, so good. Not least of all because it’s Pat, with his wide knuckles and clever hands finding Jonny’s sensitive spots with alarming speed and regularity. This isn’t going to last if Pat keeps on like this, and Jonny’s definitely got more prep to go if he’s getting Kaner inside him tonight.

Jonny focuses on his breathing, laying his head back on the pillows. “God, that’s good,” he breathes. Pat’s fingers flex and Jonny groans. Pat hasn’t said anything in a while. 

“Talk to me, Pat.”

“I’m—I can’t talk to you, Jonny, it’s all I can do not to. Not to just nut right now, okay? Do you know what you fucking look like right now? What you feel like? Jesus,” he sighs, like too much is being asked of him. 

He gets a little more lube and adds a third finger. Jonny barely has time to groan and adjust before Pat is talking again.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. I don’t even know how I’m gonna handle this. Your ass is like… God, Jonny, I can’t wait to see you on my dick. Been dreaming about it forever. I’m gonna work you open and blow your mind, just you wait.”

Jonny doesn’t want to wait. Jonny’s maybe going a little crazy at the thought of waiting. He says as much and Pat groans, scissoring his fingers. His forehead is pressed to Jonny’s abdomen now, like he can’t stand to watch any of this. His hair ( _mullet_ ) is tickling Jonny’s dick unpleasantly. Jonny puts a hand in Pat’s hair and tugs till he’s looking at Jonny. 

“C’mon, Peeks. Let’s go.” 

Pat bites his lip and pulls his fingers out. Jonny spasms a little at the sensation, forces his feet flat on the mattress. Pat rolls a condom on and slicks himself up, knee walking between Jonny’s legs. Jonny’s up on his elbows, admiring the view. Kaner’s just absently jacking himself, chin tucked down, eyes darting everywhere. If he’s waiting for a signal, Jonny can give him one. He hooks an ankle behind Pat’s ass and urges him forward. Jonny needs this now, he feels like he’s gaping. 

“Shit,” Pat breathes and finally, finally positions himself, using a thumb to tug Jonny open for him and pressing in. 

It’s a stretch. The way Pat’s shaped, the real challenge is halfway down. It’s a few experimental thrusts before Pat fits that in, and Jonny feels absolutely speared on his dick. It’s incredible. When Pat’s about as far in as he’s going to get, Jonny needs a minute to adjust, stilling Pat with a hand on his chest. They’re both breathing heavily. Pat drops to his elbows and waits. When Jonny drops his hand, Pat rolls his hips, just a slight in and out. Pat’s bushy eyebrows are knit so tight together, face screwed up in need. Jonny hasn’t quite adjusted to the stretch yet, but he’s got to have friction or so help him God. His dick is leaking all over the place, the trembling contact with Patrick’s abs only setting him off more. 

When Pat’s thrusts lengthen, the sensation is so much more than Jonny remembered. Stretch and friction and an occasional feeling of electrocution from his prostate. He leans into the feeling, tilting his hips up. 

Pat’s gasping now, “Jonny, Jonny. Jesus shit.” He hangs his head, and nails Jonny’s prostate with a wicked jerk of his hips. Jonny clenches hard, but recovers. Pat’s lip looks like it’s going to start bleeding if he bites it any harder.

“Jon, ah fuck, I can’t believe I _get_ this. I’m, fuck, I’m not gonna last,” a pause, “What do you want? My hand?”

Jonny removes the hand he’s been biting down on to keep quiet to shake his head, “No, Pat. Just. Just harder, fuck.”

Pat complies, snapping in ruthlessly and Jonny has to go right back to biting his hand. Pat's running his mouth, but for the life of him, Jonny can't make out the words. Jonny uses his bent legs to propel his abdomen up, closer. Pat’s breaking down above him. He sits up on his knees, holding Jonny up off the bed in a show of strength that only makes Jonny _harder_ , what the fuck. Jonny’s stretched thin, everything he has pushing forward, closer, harder, and Pat’s just giving it to him, giving everything to him, as much as he can. 

Jonny lets out a high noise into his fist as he comes hard, come running down his outstretched body. Kaner’s making low, gasping sounds, thrusting urgently before pulling Jonny onto his dick desperately a final time. He loses it hard. His fingers dig into Jonny’s hips painfully as he rides it out. Jonny can feel Pat’s thighs trembling as he pulls out, dropping Jonny’s lower body to the bed. 

He drops down next to Jonny, eyes hazy, mouth working. Jonny takes a few minutes to catch his breath, make sure his heart is working. Then he carefully takes the condom off Pat, ties it, and gets up to throw it away and turn the thermostat down. 

In the bathroom, he notices the redness on his chest from Pat’s beard. He feels good, worked over. He tidies himself up and wets a washcloth for Pat, who hasn’t moved an inch. When Jonny starts wiping him down, Pat just mewls pitifully, twitching. Jonny throws the cloth to the floor and hoists himself up the bed, manhandling Patrick under the covers. 

Jonny downs half a water bottle, passing it to Pat after. Pat groans, sitting up as little as possible to gulp it down, throat working. A stream of water escapes from the corner of his mouth and he just lets it. He’s totally done. He tosses the empty bottle off the bed and turns to Jonny.

“Lights out,” he says quietly, snuggling his head into Jonny’s shoulder. Jonny goes with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr!](http://cupstealer.tumblr.com)


End file.
